Safe As Houses
by Sirikit
Summary: Any port in a storm will do. Zacharias and Susan in the Second War, AU, friendship, gen.


**Title**: Safe As Houses  
**Author**: Sirikit  
**Rating**: K  
**Summary**: Any port in a storm will do. Zacharias and Susan in the Second War, AU, gen.  
** A/N**: I started writing this before DH as part of a series of what the Huflepuffs did during the war. Back then, I honestly thought the DA would figure in the fight in a more substantial (and not off-page, kept-in-school) way. Obviously DH renders this un-canon in a number of ways, but this challenge made me think of it, and I thought to myself: to hell with it, I'll keep going. Canon can't stop me from indulging in my 'Dumbledore's Army as French Resistance' fantasies, ha! Written for rarepairshorts at LJ, Challenge #2, 'A dark and stormy night.'

_Oh, what happened to the niceties  
Of my childhood days-- _

--

It was, to her chagrin, a dark and stormy night, the rain falling so hard that it felt like a wave breaking over her head. And Susan is _freezing_, she is exhausted, her robes soaked straight through. Belatedly she realizes that her boots have filled up with water; they make squelchy noises in the dark as she follows Zacharias through the darkened garden, the pair of them zigzagging around the piles of rubbish and debris. She can barely make out the shape of the house they're supposed to take shelter in for the night, but what she sees doesn't reassure her.

He gets to the door first and she speeds up to catch up to him, not wanting to be too far away. They have all learned to orbit one another more closely this year.

"Bloody thing," Zacharias mutters as he engages the warded lock. Little yellow sparks fly from his wand, illuminating the falling rain like stars.

"Maybe I ought to do i--"

"Bones, I've _got_ it," he snaps, and she doesn't even have the energy to glare at him. She presses herself against the doorframe, her body desperate to be out of the rain.

He unravels the wards successfully, then surprises her by opening the door for her as if they're in a restaurant. She gave him a wry look as she steps past; he rolls his eyes.

The house is in horrible shape, with rubbish scattered about and Muggle graffiti scrawled on the walls, and a pervading smell of ill-use and decay. Susan swears she can hear rats chittering in the dark corners.

"Merlin," Zacharias exclaims with his usual eloquence. "If the Death Eaters don't kill us, these bolt-holes will."

Nudging aside a broken bottle with the tip of her boot, Susan doesn't disagree with him. What a state they're in, she thinks, giving in to a moment of defeat, that they can't even mind the places where they rest their heads.

She points down the hallway. "Kitchen's back there. It's cleaner." He looks skeptical but follows behind her closely, like a shadow at her back.

The kitchen is an old-fashioned Muggle one with plastic floors and a dodgy looking cooker. But there is a small table with two chairs, a sink to wash up in, even a window. The rain obscures the view of the back garden.

She finds two chipped glasses in the cupboards and taps their sides with her wand until they both fill with ice water. Behind her, Zacharias fusses over the table with a cleaning charm, apparently dissatisfied with the state of it. How domestic of them, she observes, feeling detached. _No strong spells until daybreak_, she reminds herself, remembering Neville Longbottom's instructions. Nothing more than household ones while in the flat, to keep it safe from prying eyes.

They sit down at table, where Zacharias has conjured a bluebell flame and she produces a pair of sandwiches from within the depths of her handbag. But his fire is too dim and colored sickly green; it brings out the shadows in his face, making him look haggard. Her sandwiches, when she realizes as bites into them, are soggy.

She stars to flinch, because she has reached the point -- past exhaustion, past frustration -- where even the little things are like knife slashes across her nerves. She is too exhausted to be nonchalant about it, too tired to find it funny.

"I hate all of this," she says into the silence, her voice shaky. She drops her food and places her hands on her face, breathing into her palms. She tries to marshal her thoughts, because if they stray past the details, if they turn to the war outside, to their friends out there, she is in danger of breaking into a fit of anger or, worse, crying--

"Don't be so bloody negative," Zacharias snaps, and she feels his voice like a lash, startling her. "It's only our first date, after all."

She turns to stare at him, and it takes her ages to realize that he's just made a bloody _joke_. She squints to make out his features in the dim light, and she sees that his mouth is threatening to smile.

Susan exhales, then laughs -- cackles, actually -- embarrassingly long and loud, especially since his joke is _terrible_, his sense of humor has _always_ been terrible, she has _always_ teased him about it, and for that moment older, better days are with her, like sunshine after a long darkness. She feels seventeen years old again, and not one hundred.

Zacharias is smiling into his glass of water, just watching her. There are shadows under his eyes, too. He's just as frightened as she is, she realizes.

She reaches across the table to grip his hand and they continue to eat in silence, listening to the rain.

--

Lyrics from Massive Attack, "Safe From Harm"

Thanks for reading.


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